The merchant and his wife Were much disturbed to see at night she came To life, but when the daylight shone again They lost her, and her spirit fled away. This so distressed the merchant's heart, a lone Retreat he sought to find. The parents cried: "O dearest child, there's treason in the air. Hatred and anger the companions are Of lamentations and of curses dire. Foul lies for gold are uttered. Men disdain The promises of God, the faith they owe. Oh, pardon, God! I ne'er thought the _dyangs_ Would thus conspire. But since they are so bad And treated Bidasari thus, we'll go And in the desert find a resting-place. And may it be a refuge for us all, Hidden and unapproachable."
His goods He gathered then, and all his servants paid, And built a home far in the desert land, A spot agreeable. A cabin there He raised, with ramparts hemmed about, and strong _Sasaks_, and seven rows of palisades. They placed there many vases full of flowers, And every sort of tree for fruit and shade, And cool pavilions. This plaisance so fair They called Pengtipourlara. It was like The garden of Batara Indra. All About, the merchant set pomegranate-trees And vines of grape. No other garden was So beautiful. 'Twas like the garden fair Of great Batara Brahma, filled with fruits. When all was ready, forth they went, toward night, And took young Bidasari, and much food. They fared two days and came unto the spot, A garden in the desert. Softest rugs From China there were spread and of bright hue The decorations were, in every tint. The house was hung with tapestries, and ceiled To represent the heavens flecked with clouds. And all about were lanterns hung and lamps. Soft curtains and a couch completed this Enchanted resting-place. Always the light Was uniform, and brilliant as the day. 'Twas like a palace of a mighty king, Magnificent and grand beyond compare. There was a table on a damp rug set, With drinks for Bidasari, and with bowls Of gold, and vases of _souasa_, filled With water. All of this beside the couch Was placed, with yellow _siri_, and with pure _Pinang_, all odorous, to please the child. And all was covered with a silken web. Young Bidasari bracelets wore, and rings, And ear-rings diamond studded. Garments four All gem-bedecked upon a cushion lay, For Bidasari's wear. When night had come Young Bidasari waked. Her parents dear Then bathed her, and her tender body rubbed With musk and aloes. Then she straight was clad In garments of her choosing. Her dear face Was beautiful, almost divine. She had Regained the loveliness she erst possessed. The merchant was astonished, seeing her. He told her then that they would leave her there, "Branch of my heart and apple of my eye, My dearest child, be not disturbed at this. I do not mean to work thee any harm, Nor to disown thee, but to rescue thee From death." But as she listened to these words Young Bidasari wept. She thought upon Her fate. Into her father's arms she threw Herself, and cried: "Why wilt thou leave me here, O father dearest, in this desert lone? I'll have no one to call in case of need. I fear to stay alone. No one there'll be To talk to me. I only count those hours As happy when I have my parents near." The merchant heard fair Bidasari's words And wept with his dear wife. With bitter grief Their hearts were shattered. Counsels wise they gave To Bidasari. "Dearest daughter mine," The father said, "gem of my head, my crown, Branch of my heart, light of my eyes, oh, hear Thy father's words, and be thou not afraid. We brought thee hither, to this fair retreat, Far from the town, for, if the Queen should know Thou liv'st at night, the false _dyangs_ would come, And who against the princess can contend? They'd take thee back, and thus exonerate Themselves. I'd let myself be chopped in bits Before thou shouldst unto the Queen return. Thy father cannot leave companions here, But after three days he will come to thee. Thy parents both will soon come back again." Then Bidasari thought: "My parent's words Are truth, and if the Queen should find I live She would abuse me as before. Give me One maid-companion here to be with me," She asked. "My child, trust not," he said, "in slaves, Nor servants, for they only follow pay." Then Bidasari silence kept, and they, The father all distraught and mother fond, Wept bitterly at thought of leaving her. Fair Bidasari bade them eat, before They started. But because of heavy hearts They but a morsel tasted. At the dawn Young Bidasari swooned again. They made All ready to return to town. With tears The father said: "O apple of my eye, Pearl of all women, branch of my own heart, Pure gold, thy parents leave thee with distress. No more they'll have a daughter in the house.